Breathing Room
by karebear
Summary: "I need a recess, I need an interlude, from this waiting, I need this breathing room" Katniss' first Reaping Day, Gale wakes up to everything he might be in danger of losing.


Title: Breathing Room  
><span>Author:<span> karebear  
><span>Rating:<span> K+  
><span>Characters:<span> Gale, Katniss  
><span>Disclaimers (Hunger Games):<span> The Hunger Games trilogy was written by and belongs to the brilliant Suzanne Collins. I'm just borrowing the characters and world for a short while.  
><span>Summary:<span> "A few months of free hours in the woods together, and somehow already they can read each other, hear the words that are never said." On Katniss' first Reaping Day, Gale suddenly becomes aware of everything he's in danger of losing. (I feel like I've got this teenage "pre-romance" thing going on, in this world. Prim and Rory, at first, and now this early-stage Gale and Katniss...)  
><span>Notes:<span> With thanks to 8Stops7 for the title. I'd written the whole story but couldn't to think of what to call it, but this song just _fits_, in mood and tone.

* * *

><p>"You're scaring all the game away," Gale says, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his jacket. It's colder than it should be. Spring in District 12 is always cold, but in all fairness, it's really closer to summer now, and the bite in the wind certainly doesn't make it feel that way.<p>

Katniss turns, glaring at him with all the anger a twelve-year-old girl can muster.

"It's okay to be scared, you know."

"I'm _not_ scared," she tells him, angrily kicking at a rock it front of her. It pops out of the ground and bounces violently away, splashing into a nearby puddle with a satisfying splash.

He raises an eyebrow but says nothing. He wouldn't believe her even if he didn't notice the way her hands are shaking, sweaty, her grip slipping off the bow she holds like a lifesaver, even though she clearly isn't planning on shooting anything today.

Or maybe she's just praying she won't have to.

Because if her name is pulled and she's sent to the Capitol... it won't be animals she's shooting.

"You'll be fine, Catnip."

"Are _you_ scared?" she asks, although she somehow manages to make it sound like an accusation.

"No," he replies immediately.

He's sure she can tell it's bullshit.

A few months of free hours in the woods together, and somehow already they can read each other, hear the words that are never said, the messages in heartbeats and pauses. The way he holds her sometimes, when she needs to cry, to _remember_ that she's just a little kid who just lost her father, that she's carrying far more than she should.

But it goes both ways.

He already knows that he doesn't think of her as a little kid that needs protecting, because he relies on her almost as much as she relies on him. He comes out here sometimes because he _needs_ her. He needs the way she somehow knows how to defuse his violent anger, the way the warmth of her fingers wrapped around his as he shows her the intricacies of a snare line centers him.

He needs her when he storms off into the woods, literally shaking from anger and fear, ripped awake from nightmares of cold, airless dark and the loud concussive booms of cannon blasts and explosions.

She's not the only one who lost a father and she's not the only one who has to worry about tiny slips of paper spinning around like deadly snow in a clear glass ball.

He's made it through Reaping Day twice before. He tries to remind himself that worrying won't get him anywhere. He _has to_ plan for being here tomorrow, because there are no other options. He's the only one who can keep his family fed. His mother does what she can, but it's not enough. They barely scraped by before. He signed up for tesserae the day he turned twelve, and that was when he had a father.

He has to stay alive because it will be years before his siblings are old enough to buy survival the way he does. He picks up another rock and throws it into the puddle after Catnip's. It sinks, fast and heavy, and it doesn't make him feel any better.

He reminds himself that eighteen isn't _that_ big a number, not really. There are plenty of other boys, older than him, with way more chances of being picked.

Katniss grabs handfuls of berries from the bushes nearby, ripping them off the trees with unnecessary violence, nearly throwing them into the small basket she's brought to collect them. Gale knows they should sell them, split the earnings, but he doesn't _care_ for once. He pops one into his mouth and ignores her accusatory growl.

"They're good," he says, and he smiles, just a little bit, to remind her that it's okay to be happy every now and then. They have to steal these moments of happiness wherever they can find them. She smiles back at him, shy and hesitant, but he grins and laughs and inhales several more berries, because to see her make even a small concession toward the carefree childhood she's lost makes it easier for him to breathe. The tension in his shoulders begins to drain away, and he relaxes, scrambling up onto one of the larger rocks, under the sunlight streaming through the breaks in the tree cover. Out here, just for a little while, he can almost pretend.

"Catnip, you'll be fine," he reminds her, as though it might become more true through repetition.

She settles next to him and grabs some of the berries from out of his grip, even though the basket holds far more of them. Her fingers linger in his for just long enough to be noticeable.

"May the odds be ever in your favor," she whispers as she chews, refusing to meet his eye.

Gale frowns. She sounds far more serious than any twelve-year-old should, and he can already feel her pushing away, _just in case_.

He knows he can't blame her. The odds for her have already sucked. But it isn't supposed to be like this. Just for this morning, just for a little while... he can't lose her. Not this soon, not yet.

He pulls her close to him, listens to her breathing, _feels it_ against his chest, and his heart races, but she feels warm and solid in his arms and she_ isn't_ pulling away. She says nothing, but she shifts her body just the slightest bit, wrapping his arms around herself like a blanket.

Gale traces idle loops in the dirt as he holds her, and tracks the sun across the sky, aware that every minute that ticks by brings them closer to the afternoon hour that might rip them apart. He realizes that he's not even the slightest bit worried about himself anymore, as long as she is safe. At least for today, just for one more year... the odds have to be at least that good.

He finishes off the last of the berries, flexing fingers covered in sticky juice that reminds him too much of blood.

"Catnip, you'll be fine," he says softly, one last time, combing his fingers through her hair.


End file.
